LOVER’S LEAP (Part Three of a Short Story)

Readers, if you have not yet read Part One or Part Two, you will find the story of Anthony and Nadine at these links on my blog:

LOVER’S LEAP (Part One of a Short Story)

LOVER’S LEAP (Part Two of a Short Story)

THERE GOES MY MIRACLE (Bruce Springsteen)

When she completed her clerkship at the end of June, Nadine felt oddly adrift in New Jersey, the place of childhood ghosts that she was ready to give up. Her classmates who went on to college hadn’t returned. The high school sweethearts who got married early stayed in town to raise families. The parents of her friends lived on in their family homesteads, growing older, their nests emptied.

She knew the inside of every house in her neighborhood, the sleepovers, the Parcheesi games on rainy days, the different ways each mother cooked. She remembered the names of everyone’s pets—Sparky, Snippy, Tippy, Jamber.

She needed to escape this maze of familiar streets, each block strewn with memories of herself as a young girl. She knew that there was a reason she named her cat Columbus.

The only thing keeping her here was Anthony.

Nadine continued to live in her parents’ house, a mile walk to the commuter rail. Anthony lived with his, in a neighborhood a short city bus ride to the courthouse. She asked to return part-time at the federal agency while sorting out more serious employment options. She had an entrée into both the Union and Essex County prosecutor’s offices—but she hesitated in either case.

She resisted working under the tutelage of her aunt or her fiancé, even though Anthony tried mightily to persuade her to join his staff. Instead, she contacted some New Jersey classmates to float a proposal to open their own firm, a prospect that enticed her. The times were right to advance social justice, maybe as a public defender now that the Miranda case granted defendants the right to counsel, or as an advocate for women’s and children’s rights in the new arena of no-fault divorce.

She had passed the bar exam during her clerkship term and could hang out a shingle anywhere in the state if she wanted to, just like that. She had her ticket in hand, ready to take on the world.

After the engagement, many times between them were joyful, like the summer night they rode the Ferris wheel at Coney Island and devoured huge puffs of cotton candy, or the Saturday night they drank a bottle of Chianti between them in a small restaurant while sharing their life stories. They noticed the plastic red-checkered tablecloths, nothing like the thick white linens at Caesar’s Roman Forum.

Anthony quipped, “This is no place for a marriage proposal, good thing I did it before!”

Nadine laughed, “Yup, you only get one shot at it!”

They both laughed at that, a prelude to more laughter throughout the evening, between holding hands across the table, dipping their spoons into a tiramisu.

Anthony recalled his years in parochial school at the mercy of nuns and priests—“I got my share of raps on the knuckles and deserved it at least half the time”—and how studying Latin prepared him to understand every obscure legal term that came his way, from ab initio and amicus curiae to via iure and vinculum juris.

Nadine admitted to her painful shyness as a child that she overcame in Speech 101, discovering to her surprise how much she enjoyed making public presentations with a visual component, such as a demonstration of handwriting analysis or a history of Bauhaus architecture. She told Anthony—her fiancé!—how she had seriously considered taking a graduate degree in Art History but then the post-college breakup threw her into a depressing year. “I’m sorry that things got so bad for you—but not sorry it led you to law school instead. You’re here now, and I’m happy for that . . . for us!”

At midnight, the waitress brought their bill. “Closing time, lovebirds.” They laughed at that too, and left a big tip for the space they had taken up for the past five hours.

She persuaded him to go dancing a couple of weeks later, at a place featuring local bands. She took the train to his house, and they took the bus to the club—Anthony’s poor eyesight disqualified him to drive, and Nadine didn’t have a car. They sat out the rock n’ roll but when the slow dances came on, Nadine took Anthony by the hand.

“I’ve got two left feet, Nadine, you’ll be sorry!”

Swaying to the music with Anthony holding her close was all she needed—her dream come true. And just like in her dream, their cheeks touched and neither pulled away. When she whispered, “Anthony, I feel like I belong in your arms,” he brought her in closer. No matter that he was not smooth and versatile on the dance floor. His hesitant movements, not quite in step with the music, endeared him to her.

Other times were not so joyful, like a few awkward moments meeting his family for the first time. His sister, who lived in the second floor apartment with her husband, turned away and walked into the kitchen “to get something” after a lukewarm hello. No one at the dinner table asked about her own life before now, where she grew up, college, what she thought of Boston, her career plans. She had expected more curiosity about who she was.

Some did ask about her family—her mom a teacher, her dad a machinist, her brother an accountant, her grandparents immigrants from Eastern Europe. We’re solid people, Nadine thought to herself, feeling that Anthony’s family was judging them, maybe judging her. But for what?  She surely hoped it wasn’t because of religion, because that made no difference at all to her.

She did her best to maintain a positive outlook, joining in to clear the table and complimenting Anthony’s mother on her fabulous desserts. Before they left, Anthony’s grandfather came over to them, grabbed both their hands, and simply said, “Nice girl!” She took in his spontaneous warmth and let go of her first impressions.

* * * * *

After she accepted the ring, they decided to keep their plans under wraps at the courthouse until after her departure. She didn’t wear it to court, except on that first morning. Only Cora said something, “You and Anthony seem a bit out of it today. Any fraternization going on?”

Nadine froze at the all-knowing tone of her remark. She responded with room for deniability, “Whatever makes you think that?” Nadine thought, we probably both look like we didn’t get any sleep, but not for any reason Cora can guess . . . . “

Over the year, Nadine had marveled—from a discreet distance—at Anthony’s legal acumen and powerful courtroom presence, even though she never quite picked up that he had directed any personal attention at her. On a bright Sunday afternoon in September, taking a walk together through Weequahic Park in South Newark, she asked him about that, wondering if she had missed something.

“When did you first notice me . . . in that way?”

“Nadine, the first time you walked in, you brought a charge into the courtroom, just being you. You reminded me that there is way more to life than taking bad guys off the streets and winning my case. I simply wasn’t prepared for how you swept me away. I fought it . . . and I’m not even sure why. I felt like a deer in your headlights.”

“You did that pretty well . . . hiding your feelings, I mean.”

They found a bench overlooking the lake and continued their conversation, a serious one. “I guess I couldn’t believe you’d be interested, the young and beautiful you, landing at my feet on your magic carpet from Boston. Everyone noticed you . . . .”

Before she could say something sweet in return, he went on “. . . and when you asked me about my vacation that time, I guess I missed an opportunity. I thought about it for weeks after. I could have lost you . . . . ”

”You’ve got me now. Who else would dare bring an engagement ring to a first date!” She added, with a mock questioning look, “Hopefully that was the only time you’ve done that, right?” They burst into laughter, sharing their amazement at the story of their romance.

That was a good encounter, learning about his emotions under the surface, the doubts he overcame that led to his sudden proposal. It helped her to make some sense of it.

* * * * *

At a family dinner celebrating their engagement, Nadine maintained her composure when Anthony’s Aunt Beatrice asked her what kinds of dishes she knew how to cook for dinner. She immediately got that this was a test that the principal women in his family—mother, sister, and aunt—mandated that she pass.

Fortunately, she remembered the meatloaf recipe the way her mother made it, including the egg to moisten it, the bread crumbs to bind it. She wasn’t sure that was enough and recited another recipe—this one for stuffed green peppers—even though she’d never cooked it herself and had no idea how they would turn out.

Aunt Beatrice suggested she add a topping of fresh Romano and Parmesan cheese to both dishes, “the only way Anthony likes it.” Nadine politely responded, “Thank you Mrs. Pargoli, that’s a great idea.” Anthony, sitting to Nadine’s left, squeezed her hand under the table.

She wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Affirming his aunt’s advice about his preferences? Or saying without words, “My aunt is bossy, don’t let it bother you”? 

I’ll ask him about it later.

Her own parents had expressed immediate enthusiasm for the match—after all, their only daughter would live nearer home instead of leaving the state again. They were in favor of everything about Anthony, that he was a professional, came from a nice family, made a good living—not like the law school classmate she had left behind in Boston, divorced and with two children to support.

Even so, Nadine dreaded the prospect of making wedding plans with Anthony’s family. She wanted to handle the arrangements directly with him, but that was already impossible. The women had jumped in right away—it came at her like a runaway freight train—with ideas for a big church wedding, bridesmaids and groomsmen, flowers and menus, embossed invitations and a multi-tiered wedding cake. Nadine saw the dollar signs spinning out of control; she knew that her family could not contribute even half the cost for such an extravaganza.

Nadine, seven years younger than Anthony and freed from social traditions (they had eased considerably in her college years, the Sixties) had an alternative outlook. Not exactly barefoot on the beach, just not typical, reflecting their individuality, even if that simply meant less formality. They discussed it many times.

“Nadine, you will be the most beautiful bride in the world . . . I can’t wait to see you walking down the aisle. I’ve been meaning to tell you, my cousin and mom offered to make your dress. They’re experts, you know.”

Nadine imagined yards and yards of ivory satin and intricate lace enveloping her. No. Just no. Instead she tried to gently derail the idea, “That’s so generous, wow, I’m honored. But I’d like to look around first. I can’t see myself in an elaborate gown . . . not my style.”

What she meant to say but didn’t, What about me? Can’t you see that I don’t fit into that picture at all? If that’s your dream, stifle it! Measurements and fittings and seamstresses fussing over me, my mother-in-law, for God’s sake!  

Nadine had nightmare visions of framed photos—on the mantelpiece in their living room, on the walls going up the stairs, on the bedroom bureaus—of her body encased in voluminous fabrics, exhibited in perpetuity.

“Anthony, I need some time to figure out what I want. I saw a dress in a magazine, fresh white and flowing, Can I show it to you?”

“Sure,” he said, “show it to me, if you want.”

Nadine detected a lack of enthusiasm, or was it an edge, in his voice?

Damn, I wish he hadn’t said that.

* * * * *

The season changed from a warm October to a dreary November. Along the way, Nadine sensed the wear and tear on their relationship—the misses like the hassle over the dress that seemed petty at first but kept repeating. After leaving the clerkship, Nadine began to realize that the magic that the place itself had brought to their everyday encounters started to pale.

The wedding dress became the centerpiece of conflict. Nadine tired of explaining herself, defending herself. Anthony became impatient, “It’s only for the day,” he remarked.

By Thanksgiving, they began to avoid talking about a wedding, or about the future at all. Instead, one or the other of them began to voice concerns almost at once, whenever they met.

He’d say, “Let’s try again to put a wedding together . . . shouldn’t we at least set a date?”

She’d say, “Shouldn’t we look for an apartment first?”

He’d say, “Maybe you should figure out what job to take first.”

She’d add, “Our families seem so different, and not so interested in getting together, can we do something about that? That puts a cloud over everything, doesn’t it?”

He’d answer, “Yeah, if no one wants to compromise, it does.”

When they got into these frustrating loops, Nadine almost said, “Let’s just run away together and surprise everyone!” This crazy thought uplifted her, feeding into the excitement that began with the night in the New York restaurant and carried them through their last week together in the courthouse. They could rent an apartment right away, she could open her office with like-minded associates, and their winter honeymoon (she’d heard that Martinique was a beautiful island) would give their families time to let it sink in, that Anthony and Nadine knew what they wanted, all else—and everyone else—be damned.

As much as this prospect thrilled her, she felt alone in her fantasy and feared the pushback. If I reveal what I really want to Anthony, it’s all over.

They moved from random comments to doubts—dangerous ones— about the relationship itself. Nadine wasn’t exactly sure what Anthony was thinking, but she became preoccupied with doubt. Maybe we need to step back to make sure? Are we trying to drag out something that was not meant to be? Maybe we have to at least try, whether it works or not? And if we have to struggle so much, maybe the good things about us aren’t strong enough to overcome the problems?”

It was then that Nadine mustered the courage to come out and tell Anthony exactly what she’d been thinking, “Let’s just run away together and surprise everyone!” Anthony looked at her, puzzled, “You’re kidding, right? We’ve come this far. Too many people would be upset. Let’s finish it the right way.”

Nadine remembered Anthony’s marriage proposal, aimed at her straight from his heart. Now it was her chance to be reckless in the name of love—she had spoken her heart too. He waited for her to answer. But she felt shot down. She had no words.

His last question dealt the fatal blow. By then, neither of them had the will to fight it.

* * * * *

The breakup—mutually agreed upon after less than six months together—saddened him, saddened her. They agreed on that too. She just did not know where to find a path forward with him or his family beyond the glorious first day of their engagement, when the beautiful Nadine and the handsome Anthony jumped the gate and made up—or so they thought—for the year of not getting to know each other.

A few days before Christmas, they arranged for the return of the ring. They were to meet at the platform at her station. On the walk over, she slipped the ring off her finger and into its blue velvet box. Anthony stepped off the train and they moved out of the cold into the waiting room. His glasses steamed up as soon as they entered. Nadine pulled out a Kleenex and handed it to him. He took off his glasses, and for a moment she looked into his brown eyes up close again, a privilege of hers.

She gripped the box tightly in her coat pocket as they sat together. When they heard the announcement for his train back to Newark, she handed it over, a painful transaction that brought back—for both of them—the intensity of their origin story that had fallen into place within a mere twelve hours.

Or maybe the madness of it. What had they done?

She spoke out first, tears welling up in her eyes, “Anthony, I wish we knew how to do this better. Please forgive me    . . . if you can.”

He wrapped his hands around hers, warming them one last time. “Nadine, I’m sorry too. I’ll never forget you . . . you’ll always be the girl of my dreams.”

She saw the forgiveness in his eyes, the part of him she loved the most. He could not see far ahead. But he saw something in her across any table, so long as their chairs were close in. “In spite of everything . . . I love you, Anthony.”

“I love you too, Nadine.”

They embraced in silence until the train arrived.

Nadine wept bitterly that night, for the loss of the promise that had faltered between them. I tried to accept the life he offered. But at each turn, I got so discouraged. I couldn’t fit myself into the place that was reserved for me. Maybe it isn’t the right time. But maybe it could never be right. . . . “

No dreams appeared this time to challenge her resolve or melt her heart. Dreams that had been wild and seductive, convincing her to carry out a dramatic decision—the same way that Anthony carried out an impulsive plan to buy a diamond ring and propose to someone he didn’t even know, except in his own dreams.

In that way, they were not so different.

* * * * *

Nadine returned to Boston after all. She joined with two female law partners to open an office to a bit of fanfare in the heady days of women’s liberation in the early Seventies.

Some years later, a young woman telephoned the Law Offices of Jacobs & Straub to ask for an appointment specifically with Nadine for a landlord-tenant dispute. “I’m Phyllis Halliday. My grandfather is a judge and gave me your name, Do you remember him?”

Her question propelled Nadine back into the county courtroom. She imagined Anthony raising his fist with passion, maybe promoted to First Assistant by now, trying to forget the girl who moved into his sights at the beginning of one year and disappeared at the end of the next.

“Yes, I certainly do. He gave me my first break. I hope he’s well.”

“He’s retired now, but he told me about how you were the first female clerk and how you got engaged to be married in the courthouse. How romantic is that!” Nadine kept her feelings in check, and her words measured, “Yes, that really did happen, it was a whirlwind romance. Now, tell me, how can I help you?”

* * * * *

When it was her time to retire, five of her lawyer buddies invited her out to celebrate. She told her husband Joe, “It’s girl’s night out tonight, I’m being treated. Don’t wait up for me!” He insisted, “I’ll drive you there, you shouldn’t have to deprive yourself of an extra glass of champagne.”  She smiled at him for the way he always looked out for her. “Sure hon, I’ll be ready in ten minutes. One of the girls will give me a ride home.”

In the spirit of an exuberant send-off, Nadine and her friends all told their war stories, starting out in early feminist days when the law profs singled them out for an interminable grilling. They raised their glasses in another toast about every ten minutes as the wine flowed and their laughter punctuated the telling of each tale.

Her very last case—the husband who wanted his wife’s engagement ring back for his new girlfriend—signaled to her that it was time to pass on the increasingly off-the-wall demands of clients to the new batch of law school graduates.

Nadine told her friends how she met with the wife’s lawyer on neutral ground, the inside of a shopping mall, to exchange her client’s bank check for the object of desire, the gemstone ring. And how her client waited nervously in the parking lot for Nadine to text him to meet her for the handover. She had him sign a receipt for the ring, valued at thirty thousand dollars. “I’m your client, don’t you trust me?” Nadine thought to herself, are you kidding?

While she regaled her friends with details of the stealth adventure, a vision burst headlong into the front of her mind—the sparkling ring that Anthony tried to give her at the restaurant forty years ago. The ring she had slipped on her own finger on the way to work the next morning.

The memory of it took her breath away. She sipped her water slowly so as not to choke. Holding the glass, her hand shook. Her friends looked at her with concern, “What’s the matter Nadine, did you just see a ghost?” “No, no, I just feel a bit faint, too much wine I think, please go on . . . . “

Nadine withdrew from the conversation and tried to calm herself by reflecting on the days ahead, finally free from responsibility for everyone else’s problems—but still, she remembered Anthony.

She wondered, had he ever thought of her? He told her he would never forget her. But that was the Anthony back then, at a brief meeting in a train station.

She tamped down such thoughts instantly, annihilating the agony of loss and regret, and brought herself back to the present. There were some things she couldn’t say out loud to anyone, not to her husband, not even to her savvy and sympathetic colleagues. Like Anthony’s name. And the love she recognized in the look in his eyes. And the adventure of walking into court each day, taking in the light his presence had shed on her during the year that she was twenty-six.

Nadine fervently hoped that Anthony went on to become Chief County Prosecutor, a goal he had been determined to achieve. She had no doubt that he was eventually appointed to a judgeship, a deserved crown to his career. She wished for his good health, that his eyesight had not worsened—or even better, that it had miraculously improved with a new medical discovery—but most of all, she hoped with all her heart that he had found someone to return his love.

Since she couldn’t be sure of any of this, it weighed on her heavily afterwards, and it took her a long time to shake it.

—THE END—